afterthree: (jed's look about killing himself)
Of the many things I am apathetic about, the one that is probably most immediately pressing is the very long, very dense To-Do list currently gathering dust on my desk at work.

I have been working on this particular project for months. Actually, scratch that; if we include the time I spent working on the last failed attempt to put this project to bed, I've been working on it for over a year and a half now. The Do or Die day is only six weeks away and there's at least twelve weeks of work left to do. The success of this project is not only critical for my superiors and my company, but is also going to impact my future potential career opportunities.

But, right now, I couldn't care less.

I probably will, again, at some point. Hopefully that point is sometime soon, but knowing my procrastinating tendencies, that's certainly no guarantee. My apathy is so thick right now that I seek almost constant distraction.

My personality is not made for projects that stretch on this long. I lose interest when there is nothing new left to learn, when all that exists is the slow, unexciting plod through repetitive documentation. I need the thrill of discovery and the stress of complex problem solving to compel and drive me forward. I need a jungle to explore and a trail to blaze. I need to get so turned-around lost that panic is a real possibility.

But this is simply the last, long, mindless walk. Everything's fully-formed and defined and fenced-in, and there aren't any corners or unexpected caves left to explore. Intellectually I know this part of the project is just as important as the others, that the outcome is as much affected by my commitment to it now as it was by my commitment to it then, but it's just so difficult to give a damn about the thing that's almost finished when there are so many other fantastic new things I could be starting.



afterthree: (holding hands)
I never feel properly prepared for this time of year; for all its predictability it always seems to catch me by surprise, like the gasp and sharp pain in your head that comes with the first plunge into cold water. I knew it was going to be cold, I was prepared for it to be cold, but the intellectual knowing doesn't ever seem to dull the shock of it.

What I'm trying to say is, summer's over. Gone. Departed. Expired. Finished. Kaput.

I live in a place with four distinct and very stereotypical seasons, like the ones you see captured in Microsoft Office calendar templates and stapled to elementary school bulletin-boards. And, like their stock clip-art counterparts, they do tend to change from one to the other over night, as if Mother Nature stays late after class to swap seasonal boarders. One day it's still sticky-hot summer and the next I awake to deep frost, a world where green has leaked away to yellow, and the temperature has slid twenty-five degrees (and that's celsius, mind) in twelve hours.

It happens every year around this time and, considering I've lived in this place for all of my twenty-six years, you'd think I'd be used to it by now. That it wouldn't hit me so hard. That it would get easier. My mother keeps telling me I'll get used to getting up early in the mornings, too, but it's four years of regular 7AMs now and it's still a daily struggle. I have grown deeply suspicious of the "you'll get used to it" line, and anyone who dares use it is immediately suspect.

The beautiful visuals of autumn don't last very long here in Edmonton, though for a week or two the River Valley in the evening is a fiercely glorious red and golden thing to see from the High Level Bridge downtown. Someone dials the saturation up in that cosmic Photoshop application and tweaks the digital grading so the whole valley appears like something out of a fantasy illustration. Maybe it's a good thing it doesn't last much more than a week; it would be terrible for that kind of beauty to become mundane and unremarkable simply because it was every day.

And after that final blast of spectacular colour? The depressingly dull greyscale of the upcoming winter months that starts with bare branches against overcast skies and the chapped, crisp air that already smells like snow.

I have trouble saying goodbye to summer. I just don't want to, and like a miserable, stubborn child unwilling to part from a treasure I try to cling on. Hold out for one last heat wave. I'm resisting wool, socks, and gloves to the best of my ability, and because of it the daily walk from car to office in the chilly morning has become cruel, self-inflicted torture. Immature and over-dramatic indeed, but I can't quite make myself dress appropriately. Not yet. It's not cold enough to force the issue, but it will be. Soon.

 
afterthree: (willow crazy hair)
Introductions are tricky things; I'm never sure how to start or what to start with, and in sifting through all the impossible little details that make up who I am for the handful that might best be assembled into an accurate self-portrait, I almost inevitably fumble the ball in my infuriating desire to be clever. This nearly always leads to run-on sentences in which I am neither clever nor clear. I like to blame my sister for this, who has always been sharper, faster, and more witty than I, and who is the yardstick in this regard that I have never quite been able to measure up to.

The best way to start (though I should certainly be docked marks for originality) may be to tick the relevant general demographics: I am female, 26, and was born and raised in a middle-to-upper class white suburbia in western Canada which my friends and I laughingly refer to as "The Bubble". I am probably straight and chronically single.

At present I work for a Canadian retailer in their e-commerce department, doing a job that is extraordinarily difficult to explain, frequently mutates, and for which I have no training outside the fact that I have been spending more time on the internet than should be considered wise since around 1996. I have half an English degree which I might finish some day, and am a trained stage manager and theatrical technician. I really meant to stay in theatre, but somehow ended up in the corporate world; I do frequently miss theatre desperately, and try to do a few fringe and homespun projects every year to fill the void, which typically only makes the hole bigger.

I have a jack-of-all-trades personality and a shockingly steep learning curve. I get bored and disinterested easily if not presented with new and challenging stimuli, which probably explains why my CV looks the way it does. I'm good at most everything in a way that infuriates other people, but rarely extremely good or gifted at anything in a way that infuriates me. I'm an unashamed fandom geek and fanfiction reader and writer. I enjoy literary criticism (half an English degree, remember?) and occasionally review the things I read or watch and fancy myself a bit of an amateur critic, which is terribly pretentious but also terribly fun.

I live in an apartment that is too small to accommodate all my hobbies and be kept clean, and only this year have discovered how much I like tea. I thrive on stress and because of it will procrastinate to a point that is truly terrifying. I enjoy barbershop music (no, really!) and could sing tags all night long. I cry when I'm embarrassed and get embarrassed when I cry, which is exactly the sort of vicious circle it looks like. I like ticking clocks, crunching dried leaves, and cracking thin ice.



afterthree: (fueled by impetuesness and caprice)
I think I'll play LJ Idol this year, mostly as an excuse to be prompted to journal about things I don't usually journal about. It'll be a good way to exercise my ramble skills if nothing else.

Days that start out with me spilling coffee all over brand new clothes are not, generally, the best days. Fortunately I wasn't wearing my brand new white clothes, or there might have been tears.



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August 2010

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